


If I Can Live Through This

by jsy



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Depression, Fluff, Love, M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Some other stuff later probably, War, War AU, first fic, married, wheel chair, wheel chair au, wheelchair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:43:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsy/pseuds/jsy
Summary: When Navy Seal Pete Wentz comes home after a traumatic injury, its up to his husband Patrick to keep their life together.





	If I Can Live Through This

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, long time reader, first time poster. This is my first fic. Let me know if I get anything wrong.

“Ya, no, Mom, he can’t feel anything from the waist down. No, not anything” Patrick said in a hushed tone into the phone.

He was referring to his husband, Pete Wentz, a Navy Seal and Team Leader as of two years ago. Pete had seen many men die and killed at least a quarter of them with his own rifle. He never had a problem with it before. He was protecting his country; he was fighting for what’s right; he was doing his duty. But now, everything was different. From what Pete had told Patrick:

It had been a cold night and like most others there was a mission to be done. Everything started out normal. They had gotten briefed. They had gotten into a truck. They had driven away from base. They got to the house and snuck around the back and that’s when it all went wrong. What looked to be normal hard ground turned out to be trap doors with tons of little holes in it. They couldn’t be seen in the dark and certainly not from the sky. No one even knew the doors were there. Until the first shots were fired. They seemed to be coming from out of the ground. Everyone was manic. He turned around and saw a little head poke its way out of the ground accompanied by the barrel of a rifle pointed at his head. Pete shouted out commands. One, two three shots in his leg. The team scattered. A bomb went off. Backups rushed in. He saw a member of his squad, Julio, on the ground and threw him over his shoulder just as the Jeep screeched in with Med Evac.

“MOVE MOVE MOVE” He shouted out. As he put Julio in the back and started chest compressions he counted the rest of his team. And then it happened, another bullet straight into his back. He fell over.

A medical personnel came up to him, tending to his back while another one took over on Julio. He smacked the one on himself away and pointed towards the wounded man next to him, but the medic just rolled his eyes. He went to push him again and shouted “Can’t you see he needs help?”

He looked over again to see the medic that was helping Julio had stopped and was coming over to help him.

“What the fuck?” he shouted, getting angry. “He needs help! He’s still unconscious. He needs you more than me. Go back” he yelled as he tried to push them all back to go help Julio. Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Smith looking at him through tear filled eyes.

“Are you hurt too?” he asked, unsure of what he wanted or why he was crying.

“No, Wentz. You need to chill out and let them help you.” He started to protest when McCamp said “Wentz, Julio is dead and you will be too if you don’t stop it. Now be quiet"

All of a sudden, there was a ringing in his ears. He got tunnel vision. He realized he shouldn’t be alive. He should be dead and Julio should be alive. The captain goes down with the ship and as the leader of this group, he’s the captain. He should be dead. None of that was true of course, but that’s what ran through his head.

He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until the medics stuck a mask over his face to help him breathe. They were shouting things about losing blood, his spine and needing bandages and a stretcher.

When they stopped, he was lifted out of the Jeep. He felt like a dead weight, a waste of space. It should have been him he thought. That was the last thing he thought before passing out on the way to the medical tent.

Patrick received a phone call later that day, telling him to come to the San Diego Hospital at 02:00 and not to bring their daughter. When he arrived, Patrick was ushered into a room where he saw his passed out husband with a mask over his face and wires coming out of his arm. Instead of peaceful, Pete looked tired and dirty and like he had been through hell.

Patrick sat in the chair next to his bed and held his hand and waited for the doctor.

Patrick snapped out of his backflash when he heard a rustling from the bedroom. Pete was awake. It had been 2 weeks since Patrick had got the call and Pete had been home in his own bed for this past week. Patrick went into the room to find Pete staring blankly in front of him at the wall next to their bed. Patrick rubbed his hands across the older’s back. As soon as Patrick touched him, he heard Pete let out a little gasp. He was crying and hyperventilating. 

“Shhhhh It’s ok. Everything’s fine. Everything will be ok.” Patrick murmured, still rubbing his back.

“Who was on the phone?” Pete asked, his voice cracking.

“Just my Mom. No one important” he murmured.

He stopped talking after that. Pete hadn’t left the bed since they got home from the hospital. The bullet had lodged right into his spine and fractured one of the bones in it. The medical professionals said that he would never walk again and he was lucky to be alive. He didn’t feel lucky though, instead, he felt like he’d rather be dead. He lost his brother, and he couldn’t even go back to help the others.

Patrick understood. He was ex-military himself, an air force medic in fact, and now taught a elementary school class of 3rd graders. They both had lost people in the field, both lost friends even. But this, this was different. Pete felt like this was his fault. Pete was leading the mission. He felt like it was blood on his hands. This was his brother’s blood on his hands. 

He was still hyperventilating so the younger rolled him over so he was facing him, cradled his head in his arms and shushed him quietly.

“It’s ok. Follow my breaths. C’mon. In” He took a deep breath. “and out” he exhaled.

Patrick did that a few more times and Pete tried to follow weakly. When his breaths slowed down Patrick looked behind himself, his eyes settling on a tray with food on it.

“You have to eat some. You don’t have to get out of bed, but you have to eat” he said firmly and Pete nodded.

He brought over the tray and helped Pete sit up against the bed frame. It had 2 eggs, two pieces of toast and a glass of orange juice. Pete picked up a piece of the toast and nibbled at the corner. Patrick settled himself sat on the bed in front of Pete and picked up the other piece of toast.

Patrick looked down at the toast in his hand. “Look Pete, I know what happened has really taken a toll on you. I know that you’re struggling with it and I love you and I think you need to see someone.”

He raised an eyebrow, not understanding. “See who? I don’t want to see anyone. Did you call my mom or something? Is she here?”

“No Pete. I mean, like” He looked down again “like a psychiatrist or something.”

He stared at him blankly. “No”

“Listen Pete. You’ve been talking in your sleep. Well, screaming actually. You have to stop this. Pete, you can’t go out like this, you know. I told, Officer Whitacker and he said agrees that you need to go.”

His eyes narrowed at that. “When did you talk to him?”

“Last night- they want to come visit you before the rest of the team gets deployed again. But, if you can’t get out of bed…. I just told him that you weren’t feeling well enough yet- that you were still vomiting.” It wasn’t a total lie. He hadn’t kept much down over the last week. He had just opted not to eat over vomiting twice a day, every time his mind wandered back to-

He whispered something quietly.

“hm?” Patrick hummed, having not heard what his husband said.

“I said yeah. I’ll go” Pete said a little louder, but still hardly above a whisper.

Patrick just nodded. Then when Pete finished his toast he crossed the bed, moved the food, and pulled Pete’s head back into his lap, carding his fingers through his hair. And as Pete fell back asleep, he pulled him just the slightest bit closer.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, this is my first fic and I'm very nervous but I have most of this written so :)


End file.
